


Chasing in Circles

by wyvernwood



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-15 07:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21249830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyvernwood/pseuds/wyvernwood
Summary: Quinn's not sure what's going to happen now that the Warrior survived the attempt on her life that, well, he failed to plan perfectly.It goes much better than he had any right to expect. Even if it's kind of terrifying.





	Chasing in Circles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [butterpanic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterpanic/gifts).

The night before had not gone as Quinn had planned, nor as he had hoped, nor as his lord had expected. They had been enjoying one another's company in privacy as had lately become their habit. When Quinn told her he felt unwell -- it was hardly a lie, he made himself sick doing it -- she had let him go. He was not sure he approved of that. She had departed, and he'd checked one last time that the drug he had dosed her with had the notation he remembered. _Contraindicated if Quesh antitoxins have been administered, possible death resulting, sleepiness, slow reflexes_ \-- all the side effects that might give the ambush a chance against her.

It had still failed. Now he was in the brig, a makeshift holding cell Lord Celevar -- well, mostly Pierce and Broonmark, but at her orders -- had constructed out of the supply closet. His ankles were chained together and they were attached to one of the shelving units at the floor. Vette had done that. She hadn't spoken or even been able to look at his face while she did it. What a miserable thing to make her do, not that he had ever liked Vette, but still. 

He probably could have got himself free of the chains. He didn't even try. He wasn't sure why he was still alive, or what was going to happen -- would Lord Celevar kill him, or would Baras? Or would he be executed without being told whose orders it was on. That seemed likeliest. There was a bucket. They hadn't fed him and he hadn't needed to use the bucket. Small favors.

He remembered back to an earlier night together, one with less -- one that had ended far more happily. 

He had brought her a wall hanging for her apartment on Dromund Kaas, a textile he had bought at a local shop after speaking personally with the artisan about his lord's preferences. The man had been exasperated, but it was not as though such a person's impatience was appropriate when it came to ensuring his lord was pleased with her gift.

And she had been. "Where did you get this, Quinn? It's lovely." The tip of her tongue had mesmerized him as it peeked out thoughtfully from the corner of her lips. 

It had taken him a moment to collect himself. One in which he had dared familiarity, to speak something he had been holding back. "Malavai, please, my lord? If only in privacy." 

She had made a point of catching his eyes in her burning gold ones. "We are quite private here, are we not? You are right, I should not waste the opportunity, Mal." 

He had felt frozen in place by the caress of her tone in those words. Distantly he thought how distasteful such a shortening of his name was, or should be, but in Celevar's use the effect was -- to cause feelings to stir in him that he struggled not to show.

In vain; she was pleased, though, an immense relief (that had overwhelmed but not entirely erased an incomprehensible disappointment). She regarded him with an indulgent smile.

Both relief and disappointment had barely registered before they were supplanted by a sharp thrill when she stood up from the table - he stood quickly as well out of courtesy - came over to him and turned him to face her with a touch on the shoulder. "Mal," she said again, "there are other ways to enjoy our privacy. It seems our desires have matched our opportunities at last."

"My lord," he said, and expected her to direct him to use her name, or some shortening of it, reciprocation; but she did not. He said it half as a question, half as acquiescence; she accepted it as both.

"Undress us, Mal." 

He felt it was obscurely more respectful to disrobe himself first, but stopped before he had quite finished; his arousal was evident with his shorts still on, and the same sense of respect made him hesitate to reveal its implicit demand before she should be ready. 

So, it was in near but not complete nakedness that he began to remove Celevar's armor and her robes. She maintained, throughout, an attitude of pleasant amusement, almost detached, which he might have found alarming if he had not recognized that she was carefully controlling how much of her reaction she showed to him, if he had not heard how despite her effort her heartbeat quickened when his hand rested against her chest as he unwove the corset ties and freed her breasts. He did not cup them in his palm as he wanted to. That much discipline he still had. 

She had as much compelling power of charismatic will naked as she had fully dressed. "You have forgotten one thing, Mal." A sharp glance at his crotch. 

He quickly stepped out of his shorts. "I -- " he said, needing a pause to gather enough breath to complete the thought, " hope to please you, my lord." 

"Yes, you had better," she said, and with a hand lifted herself to sit on the table, pulled him to her so his thighs were between hers and she could wrap her arms around him. Her breasts pressed warmly against his chest. 

She pulled him down atop her onto the table. Decorative plates and empty flower vases fell to the floor on either side of the table, one making a sharp sound that probably indicated breakage, another a wet noise that might mean it hadn't been empty after all. 

He tried his best to please her. He did, by the soft sounds of encouragement, by the minute tightening of certain muscles, by the change in her breathing. But soon, he could tell he was not pleasing her enough. He worked his left hand between them, until his fingers could touch her clit as well, a technique he expected to fill the gap. But it was not quite right.

Impatient, her hand joined his, shifted his touch minutely, "Like this, Mal," and he committed the difference to memory, a surge of passion at the moment surprising him anew. It was not long then until he did satisfactorily please her, proven in an immense surge of power that flung the shards of broken plate deeply into the previously unmarred metal of the wall panels, and a shout of pleasure. She held him fast.

Thinking of how she had corrected him and that he had pleased her, but not perfectly, he brought his own climax swiftly on.

Celevar's grip was uncomfortably tight and he wanted her to hold him like that forever, but no sooner had he silently made such an unreasonable wish than it was denied him. She released him with a little shove. "Off, you're heavy." He stood then, took a step back, looking away. Ready for something -- praise, reprimand? New orders? None of those transpired. "Much can be said for privacy," Celevar said and stretched. Her lithe body did amazing things when she stretched. 

She hopped off the table and pulled her clothes on. He watched her do it, not sure if silent attentiveness was what she wanted, feeling an oddly pleasant frisson at not knowing. She looked at him and he felt an eagerness for her to speak.

"I really like your body, Mal," she said. Not as a compliment, it didn't seem, but as a statement of her enjoyment. "Give me a few more minutes and clean up the place before you put your uniform back on, would you?"

He found he didn't mind at all, anymore than the name-shortening. It should be an indignity -- it was one -- and since it was Celevar, that was fine. What that meant, he couldn't be bothered to consider.

Which meant he knew and hadn't wanted to admit it to himself. His big mistake, that had been. The one that led to where he was now, what he had done.

"It's simply not possible that you actually thought that would kill me, Captain Quinn." She had gone all the way back to calling him that.

"My lord, I --"

"What is it you do again? You're a competent medic, an exceptional officer, and a galaxy wide expert in what was it again? Oh yes." Her words hissed. "Threat assessment." She had given him a dead stare, the gold of her eyes so dark they were nearly a natural brown. "I am a threat you have assessed quite thoroughly. If you had meant to kill me, I would be dead."

"There was a drug I gave you," he admitted in a low voice. "It reduced your reflexes, judgment, and accuracy --"

"Oh yes, the Talaxon. I did mention that you are a competent medic? Who had administered a wide spectrum antitoxin just two days earlier because I was on my way to Quesh? An antitoxin that neutralized the Talaxon well before your droid ambush took place?" Her lips thinned. "It might fool Baras, but not me."

"I care for you, my lord, but my first loyalty must be to Baras --"

"It's a good thing that's a lie, Captain Quinn, even if it's a lie you're telling yourself, because you have betrayed him. Because of what you did, I'm going to kill him."

"And me, my lord."

"Certainly not. I enjoy you far too much to kill you."

"Please, my lord--"

"I know, I can't properly enjoy you in this disgusting room, but I did need to punish you. You may not have put my life in jeopardy, but you inconvenienced me and poisoned me. Hardly nothing. I should knock your rank down, perhaps to Corporal, it has a nice sound. I'm sure Lieutenant Pierce will enjoy being your superior officer for once."

"Punish me," he had meant it to be a question, meaning "what will your punishment be" but it came out sounding like a request, a plea.

"So that's why," she said, as though a confusion had been cleared up. "Did you really have to put us through all this for that, Mal?" Celevar rubbed her forehead. 

He watched her, uncertain and off balance, unwilling to allow the trains of thought her words had set in motion in his mind to leave their starting points. 

She did not seem to expect him to answer her question, and he met her lack of expectation. As she left him there, he continued not thinking about what she had said. About whether he had been lying to himself, if he had really tried to kill her or he had known it would not work, if he was loyal to Baras or a traitor. If he was Lord Celevar's man or her master's.

Eventually he slept, unsettling dreams keeping him close company.

In the very early morning, while it was still dark, she came back and without a word, detached the chain from the shelving unit, put a loose hood over his head -- it hid his face from any onlooker and kept him from knowing where they were, even what planet they were on, though he could see a little light and, if he looked down, a sliver of ground at his own feet. She took him off the ship, he knew that, and to her two seat speeder, which he recognized by the sound of its motor as it revved up. When he struggled to get in, what with being unable to see what he was doing and also his chained ankles, she lifted him and dropped him onto the passenger seat, jolting his breath from him, vaulting herself over him into the driver's seat and sped off. 

It was still dark, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, when they reached -- wherever they had arrived to. He saw that when she took the hood off. There were towering plants and, beneath their fronds, a low building of unfamiliar architectural style. Its arched door opened inward as they approached. He saw no roads leading here, and the vegetation was barely disturbed by the passage of the speeder. 

Lord Celevar strode in and he followed her. It seemed to be what she had assumed he would do. He thought through his options, and -- he did not want to do anything different. Did not want to wander into the wilderness with his ankles chained together. Did not want to try to survive on a planet he had no familiarity with, no idea what would be edible, what would be dangerous. Did not even want to escape whatever fate Lord Celevar planned for him. 

Whatever it was, he wanted it. The trains of thought that he'd been holding in place so long turned tail and sat in that station. He second-guessed this conclusion almost immediately when she, with a gesture, upended him and dangled him by his ankles, the chain held mid-air by nothing but her will. Blood rushed to his head. 

It was easy for her to strip him to the waist, dangling upside-down. His trousers were more difficult to remove, but she had them up at his ankles, and then loosened the chains from his ankles, letting him fall on the ground in a naked heap.

A crackling glow surrounded her and she moved closer. Painful shocks danced over his body from the glow, each one minor but they added up. "Get up," she said. The first words she'd spoken since the night before.

He got up. She took his chin in her hand, the shocks focusing themselves on his face and throat through her hand. He left his hands at his sides, meaning to keep them relaxed, but they clenched themselves into fists as he tried to endure. 

The glow subsided, the energies dissipating around Lord Celevar. She patted his cheek and looked him up and down. "Look around, Mal," she said. He did so, noticing for the first time that there were cabinets with shelves on which were all sorts of things. Some of those things were artifacts he did not recognize. Some of them were the sort of souvenir Celevar had given him as a gift or appreciation in happier days in the past. At least a few were weapons he could use. He thought about whether he would be able to get to one of the weapons, use it before she could stop him. He did not think so, not unless she was to be atypically careless. 

She saw the direction he was looking in. She had a smile that he had seen before when she was anticipating something she enjoyed. He tried to imagine why seeing him look at weapons, in the situation they were in, would make her look that way. He tried not to notice how much less tense he felt himself, because he knew he ought to be afraid or -- in the mode he was when he was preparing for a fight, tense and alert, chilly and thoughtful. He was none of those things. He was calm, but a confused calm, one where he had nothing prepared and felt no need to have anything, a state he could not recall ever feeling before. 

He was ready for whatever happened and he felt it was both welcome and that he did not mind it, which made no sense and therefore was not worth considering. Perhaps he'd been drugged. That must be it, he thought, and thought fled. Lord Celevar put her hand at the base of his throat and he -- couldn't breathe. His chin lifted, he felt his airways close, and -- nothing. 

This was not a _threat._ It was happening, and he -- 

Could breathe again. Was standing on his feet. Was staring into Lord Celevar's golden eyes.

She opened her mouth wide -- a force shout, he had seen her do this many times, and the sound -- he felt it down to his bones. His whole body shuddered as the crackling glow returned, this time recognized as another battle power he had seen her use over and over again. Sensitized to the painful but minor shocks it emitted, he found himself wanting her to bring him closer into it, to feel it _all over_ and -- 

\-- She did. Wrapped him in her arms and in her force cloak of pain, until the cascade of small agonies became one enormous one that drove everything else out of his mind and he couldn't stand --

"Is it enough, Mal?" 

She had her hand at his throat again and he couldn't breathe to answer with a word, but he nodded. He thought it was. 

She let him breathe and he fell to his knees at her feet. His throat hurt and he felt dizzy, and somehow, relief was the emotion at the forefront of his mind, along with adoration for the Sith who had been tormenting him. 

"So. Are you mine, or are you Baras's?"

"Lord Celevar, I--" He felt overwhelmingly that he should answer the way she wanted, but he was not sure it was true. Baras did still have every right to his allegiance, nothing had changed that fact. But he didn't feel it, not now, and he realized he had not for a while. Had not been giving Baras true reports on Lord Celevar, had been keeping things -- "should be Lord Baras's." 

"Can you kill me? You know there are weapons here. You know it was his command to you." Celevar combed her fingers through his hair, and he turned his head, looked up at her, and then looked in the direction of her gaze. A vibroknife, a blaster, a sharp ancient blade. 

"You have greater speed and the Force, Lord Celevar. I could not get to those weapons and turn them on you before you could disable me." He clasped his hands together tightly behind his back and kept himself from trembling. 

"True. Not what I meant. If I stood here and did nothing, allowed you -- could you kill me?"

"Yes, my lord."

"No, Mal. You can't."

"Because, my lord, you would not stand there and do nothing if I made the attempt."

"That is not why, and you know it." She made a sound of frustration. "Tell me how I kill Baras, Mal."

"If you were to fight him in a fair fight, in an arena, you would win, my lord. Your martial prowess is the greater. Baras, though, has allies who will come to his aid, everywhere he goes. He does not make himself vulnerable to greater strength of arms."

"I strip him of allies, then."

"That -- yes, my lord." His knees were beginning to ache. His throat was sore and his muscles kept spasming and he hurt all over and why was it -- why did he feel so -- "My lord?"

"Am I?" Celevar asked, the frustration audible in her tone. "Will you say it yet, Mal?"

Why was it so difficult? "I am yeh -- not Bar -- " the words jumbled in his mouth. 

"What has he done," she said, and he thought she wasn't talking to him anymore. She put her fingers on his temples and he felt warmth flow from them into him and then heat and then it was too hot, his head swam with fever and he felt nausea and vertigo and then a calm clear wash of nothingness as he went unconscious.

He woke to a sharp acrid smell and her eyes still glowing gold. "Say it now," she commanded.

"I am yours, Lord Celevar, and not anyone else's," he found himself saying and it was easy, it was right. 

"Yes," she said with calm finality. "Absolutely. And did Baras ... no, I won't ask. I don't want to know." 

He tried to speak and she put her fingertip on his lips. "No. Now, I have punished you entirely enough, Mal. It's your turn to make an effort, to give me what _I_ want. Give me pleasure, and do it right this time." 

He took his time and remembered exactly what she liked. He made sure his efforts pleased his lord, and every moment of it he was performing precisely to her desires. It felt good, especially when he was deep inside her and moving his cock and his fingers in complementary rhythm, and he could have climaxed, he was growing more and more desperate to, in fact, but that would curtail her pleasure so he didn't, he refused to allow himself to --

Lord Celevar was close to her second climax and gripping his back tightly, her nails digging into his skin so hard there would be crescent mark bruises where they had been. "This time, come with me, Mal," she whispered and so when her orgasm came, when she clenched him hard and cried out, he -- 

Trying not to, he still groaned and made sounds he would not have expected, that felt like they weren't coming from him, they were so involuntary. He lost control of his body and found himself moving too hard, too fast, his hand unable to stay on the right spot on Lord Celevar's body to please her, and he felt a wave of paralyzing but not unwanted terror of having been -- imperfect again. 

"My lord, I," he started.

"You sure did," she finished. "That was _very_ satisfying. Well done. I'm just going to lie here a bit. Get us cleaned up and we'll head back to the ship. I think the crisis is past."

He was dazed and somehow time had turned back and this was just like when they had been at her apartment, again, although it wasn't, not quite. It took a bit more thought and effort to figure out how to do as she'd asked, here, but he found the fresher and cleaning materials and managed. 

He didn't want to go back to the ship, though. Back to being in a makeshift prison. To not knowing what was going to happen. But he said nothing about this and followed orders, cleaned, managed to dress himself to his own meticulous standard and her as well, getting them ready to return. This had been -- he had no idea why she had done this. But he couldn't find it in himself to be anything but immensely happy she had, even if it was over already. 

"I'm going to reinstate you," she said as they returned to the speeder.

"How can you? The crew all know I tried to kill you --"

"They don't," she said. "Well. Perhaps I did imply..."

"They built a cell on the ship and Vette chained me there for you."

"This is true. I have misled my crew. The best solution to such a situation is the truth, don't you think?"

"How could that possibly --"

"It will." 

They arrived back at the ship, he back in his uniform, unrestrained, every hair in place, in appearance entirely the same as before any of this had happened. 

Celevar acted as if everything was normal. Pierce and Vette did not. Jaesa had a partial pretense, mimicking her Master's nonchalance, but it was transparently fake. Broonmark did not seem to care, but the creature's eyes remained closed. Perhaps the Talz was asleep.

"Captain Quinn is reinstated," Celevar said. She poked Broonmark, who opened his eyes at last. "Don't be rude."

"But didn't he," Pierce said, then paused. "Are you sure? That whole thing..."

"It was a game," Celevar said, as if this made any sense. "A sex thing."

Pierce looked over and raised his eyebrows. He said nothing. Pierce's expression was both doubtful and contemptuous as he looked at his former and now reinstated superior officer. 

"Entirely my idea," Celevar added, eyes glancing from the burly Lieutenant to the more compact Captain and back again. One corner of her mouth twitched up in a tiny smirk. "You know how we Sith are. Captain Quinn went along with it because he will do anything I wish. Won't you, Captain?"

"Yes, my lord." He managed to say it with gravity and without blushing. It was, as she had promised, the truth, from a certain point of view.

"Show them, Captain. Kneel." 

He was on his knees in a single fluid motion. "As you say, my lord."

Vette snickered. Pierce looked as though he'd bit into a sour fruit. "Don't take that attitude," Celevar said, aiming it mostly at the two of them, though she didn't entirely omit Jaesa, who had pressed the knuckles of her right hand to her mouth. "Any of you would do the same if I asked. Consider it luck -- your choice if good or ill -- that I prefer to play this particular game with Captain Quinn."

"My Master, I --" Jaesa began.

"I don't wish to hear it, Jaesa. Yes, you are Sith, but you are my apprentice on my ship in my crew. Someday, if you survive long enough, you will have your own crew. That is when you may do as you like. And, any of you. If I am wrong and you would not do anything I require? Please do tell Captain Quinn. He will start the flimsiwork to have you transferred."

Broonmark made a trumpeting sound.

"That is absolutely right, my friend," Celevar said.


End file.
